Penance
by royaigarbage
Summary: Right after Ishval, Riza can't cope with the damage she's done... and the lives she's ended.


Description: Right after Ishval, Riza can't cope with the damage she's done... and the lives she's ended.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood or any of the characters.

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Riza's POV:

Night three of no sleep. Three nights since the war finally came to an end. Yes, it has been rough, but I can't let myself have the luxury of resting my head anymore... because that Ishvalan child doesn't. That Ishvalan woman with terror and innocence in her wide red eyes doesn't. The poor boy gripping hands with a young girl and screaming in blood curdling terror after she had been brutally shot down by my hands, he doesn't have that luxury anymore.

I can't let myself just forget about all the human souls, lives, and hearts I've ripped up, and will never be able to repair or bring back.

I sit in silence, wondering how I let myself into this position. My initial intention not to kill, but to protect. And I've done the opposite. Mr. Mustang had unknowingly convinced me that this path was a good idea. I listened when he said he wanted to take care of our country and protect his loved ones. I was inspired to do the same, and before I knew it, I was slaughtering innocent civilians.

The memories flood into my mind all at once. Causing me to pull my legs to my chest and tremble uncontrollably. How could I have let myself do this, because the faces... so many faces haunt me in my lonesome. They scream into the bitter abyss, never to be released from the tight, painful grasp that is death itself. And it's all my fault.

They were innocent. They'd never done a single thing to deserve the bullet I took their lives with. They were human beings. They had families. Loved ones. Hobbies. Hope.

They had hope for a great future, they had dreams to marry and start a family. They hoped for the life they could've had if it wasn't for me.

A mother could never feel the love of nursing her own child, never feel the pleasure of knowing she had made a miracle of life.

A child was denied the right to being healthy, happy, or even simply alive. Because of my hideous acts in the war that ruined countless people.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a soft knock on the door. I stand up with the little strength I have left and slowly pry it open. A small gasp escaped my lips.

"Mr. Mustang, what are you doing here this late at night?"

"I-I'm not sure. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I can leave if this is a bad time."

"No no, it's perfectly fine, just, why me. Hughes might be easier to talk to, considering he is your best friend."

He sighs softly before replying, "I know, but he's with his girlfriend, Gracia. And I know you live alone so I just thought-"

"It's okay," I tell him, "I don't mind. It might help keep me awake."

"Awake, why? You look exhausted, why don't you get some rest, I can leave if you-"

I cut him off, "Do you think people like me... us, deserve to rest. Do we really want to just forget about what we've done? I'm not sleeping. I've been eating a bit and drinking water, so I'm not starving." I try to reason with him.

"Hawkeye... I understand where you're reasoning comes from, but you'll die if you don't sleep. You need it." He says with soft eyes.

Tears form in my eyes and I quietly sniff in.

"But," I start weakly, "I-what if I don't care if I die."

"I care." He replies. I suck in a breath and look up at his face.

"I care Hawkeye. You can't die, it's selfish. We can either choose to give up or endure the pain of our pasts. We can grow and move forward, we can choose to be the change. We can win. And you can't be selfish enough to just throw it all away. Pick it up. Pick it all up, and start again."

As soon as the words leave Mustang's mouth, I collapse. My knees unbuckle our from under me, and my eyes express the thoughts too complex my mouth can put into words. I cry, attempting to hold back, but failing. I sob. I scream. I pull at my hair.

I release every uneasy thought through tiny water droplets that collectively make soft pattering noises on the floor. I feel a wound begin to heal. A wound not given to me through a gun, not through a sword, not through a knife or a dagger, but through the mental hell of war.

I feel a warm hand rub up and down on my back. I gaze through the kaleidoscope of tears in my eyes to see mustangs comforting face. Tears are silently cascading down his cheeks as well, and I pull him into me. My arms wrap around his neck and I cry into his shoulder. His warm arms make way around my torso, holding me tight in his embrace.

My tears seem to run out, as if I'd cried out all the water in my body. I choke back one last sob before standing up, along with Mustang.

"I'm sorry, I just-" I begin to tell him, before I'm interrupted.

"Don't. Please, you can't apologize for emotions. Now, let's get you some water."

I nod, sniffling. I'm supposed to be strong. Yet, here I am, being waited on after crying for who knows how long. I should be the one suffering, not getting catered to.

"Here, drink a glass of water, and I'm going to make sure you get to bed tonight. I'm not giving up on you, Hawkeye." He says, a weak smile plastered onto his moonlit face.

And before I can open my mouth to protest, I'm being escorted to my bedroom and gently guided onto my mattress. The last thing I feel before drifting off into an unavoidable sleep, are a pair of strong, caring arms wrapped around me.


End file.
